Afraid of the Morning Sun
by menolikey
Summary: Their relationship is tantalizingly frightening and downright dangerous, yet unconsciously, Hannibal Lector and Will Graham grow closer and more dependent on each other. Loose set of drabble-like chapters to fulfill those dark desires. Hannigram. Ch 5 - "Courting"
1. Blood

Something about blood. It usually calmed Dr. Lecter.

No, not calmed. Calm would suggest that he was agitated or excited beforehand, and he was everything but _excitable_. He was always meticulous, always unperturbed. Seeing blood did not _make_ him calm. He _was_ calm. _Always_.

One could say that Dr. Lecter generally associated blood with a sort of calm. Only around blood could he be himself. He had nothing to hide from blood and blood didn't lie to him, didn't force him to socialize and smile when he did not want to. Arguably, nothing could _force_ Dr. Lecter to do anything – he was not one to be _forced _– but for the sake of his 'human suit,' he had to at least keep up appearances.

Later, he could weigh the pros and cons of appearances.

But now, he had to deal with a very bloodied William Graham shifting from foot to foot, perhaps a better description should have been _staggering and alone_. A ghosted look settled in William's eyes very much like an anchor sinking to the ocean floor. William's face froze in a countenance of jaded shock and torment – a good look, in Hannibal's opinion.

Back to the subject: Usually blood equated with power, but now, Hannibal only felt a shiver of worry for William. Feelings did not come easily for Hannibal and the worry he felt was surprising to him; nevertheless, he felt it and had to act upon it.

Once standing directly in front of William, Dr. Lector called his name and received no response. William's gaze secured itself to the floor, very close to but not on the dead body of Garrett Jacob Hobbs. Hannibal sighed as he watched William's eyes, which to others betrayed nothing but to Hannibal betrayed William's chaotic affliction. Unfortunately, blood mottled William's glasses and partially obstructed the view. Blood, here, irritated Hannibal.

Without further thought, Hannibal seized the glasses and a handkerchief, silken ivory, and cleaned them until they looked spotless – except for the scratches on the lens' surfaces which also irritated him. He could do nothing but purse his lips and wait for a more apt time to discuss purchasing new glasses. When he carefully placed the glasses back on William's face, William blinked in a quick and irregular procession.

"Oh, Dr. Lector. I didn't see you there," William remarked unevenly, hesitantly.

Dr. Lector responded with a low hum and a slightly raised eyebrow.

Bashfulness flitted onto William's face, amusing Hannibal. "Sorry. Spaced out."

"Given the circumstances, it is understandable," Dr. Lector replied with a smile, soft and hidden beneath, caustic.

Nodding, William quickly turned from the crime scene and started out of the house. As he escorted William outside, Dr. Lector noted an urgency to leave, constrained by guilt in William's body language. A storm of remorse and fear hung like death on William's shoulders.

Delectable, Hannibal thought.

"Dr. Lector..." William breathed violently, and while it was tempting to let William sink into his own darkness, Hannibal knew he could not let William's inner demons destroy his friend (his friend? his source of entertainment? or something else)... yet.

"Come, William," he directed, an arm extended towards his car, "we will get you something to eat."

"I don't think I could eat," William affirmed but allowed Dr. Lector to lead him into the passenger seat of the car nevertheless.

Closing the passenger door, Dr. Lector rounded his car, straightened his suit jacket and glided into the driver's seat. They drove to Dr. Lector's house under the ministrations of Mendelssohn and left the corpses to the law enforcement.

* * *

A/N: I've never been so careful with my diction as now. I felt so clinical when writing. Like a patient etherized upon a table.


	2. Sit

"He's there. He's there, you know. When I close my eyes he's there."

"Who?"

"You know who."

"Hobbs."

"Yes, him."

"Often?"

"Almost every time I blink, he's coming at me... Lately, I can see him without blinking."

Dr. Lecter took in William's appearance: disheveled, sleep-deprived, disconsolate, and somewhat terrorized by his demons. The inky bags under his eyes and the yellow film of sweat and fear over his skin indicated sleepless nights and haunted dreams. His whole body seemed ready to jump at the smallest of noises and tensed when kept still. William fidgeted with his hands and with the books on the bookshelf while he moved from one end of the balcony to the other. Every now and then, he would gaze at a title of a book that caught his attention so as to momentarily distract himself. Apart from the small distractions, William focused on every piece of the room other than on Dr. Lecter, himself – the vases, the statues, the coaches, the floor, the bannister, the roof, the desk. Hannibal felt quite vexed by the constant movement but said nothing. Who was he to question William's coping mechanisms.

William. Poor, poor William. Always so lost. Always so alone.

When Hannibal first met William, he wanted to laugh aloud. Now, now, Hannibal respected William on a much deeper level because he understood William. In many aspects, he was William; in every other way, though... he was … a hungry man, a highly intelligent man, an ironic man. In William, Hannibal felt a sort of connection that he could never allow himself to attain with other people. Maybe because Hannibal knew that William would be able to empathize with him or maybe because William kept surprising Hannibal with the accuracy of his talent that Hannibal felt he really liked William. Really.

Still, William fidgeted from one side of the balcony to the other as if he had no place to belong. Then, William paused in his endeavors, observing him with a most curious gaze. Hannibal hardly ever felt like prey – and he did not now... however, William's gaze scrutinized him in ways he could not quite put into words. It was as if William's gaze were a metal brush, scrubbing away all the layers of his 'human suit' until he felt some of his actual skin showing.

Frankly, Hannibal found it exhilarating.

"You look like you're about to punch me," Will – William – observed, "It's the fidgeting right?" Both hands on the bannister, leaning towards him, William blinked and continued his examination, and nodded a fraction of a muscle. "Sorry, Dr. Lecter."

At that, William pushed himself upright and continued to shuffle around the balcony, albeit more slowly. He looked like he was attempting to control his restlessness.

"And yet, you continue," Dr. Lecter observed, pursing his lips in amusement. William was such an interesting person. An amalgam of paradoxes. Soft yet hard. Emotional yet detached. Calm yet chaotic. Hannibal did not think he could tire of William soon.

"Yes, I do," William mumbled to himself, nodding minutely, "Apologizing doesn't mean I will stop. No offense to you." He said the last part almost as an afterthought.

"Of course." Hannibal smirked and William peered at him in time to see it. His gaze lasted for a second longer; then, he went on to pace and pick at his cuticles.

"If you do not mind me asking, why is it you are so … restless?" Hannibal asked.

"I don't know. I just... I can't stand psychiatrists – no offense. It's just... my head and sitting down makes me feel like I need to be somewhere else doing something, _anything_. I can't sit still."

"Also, it is harder to run when you are seated and comfortable. Why is it you do not want to be comfortable, William?"

"I … It's not that I don't want to be comfortable... It's that..."

"You cannot afford to be comfortable?"

"Yes, that."

William and Dr. Lecter traded looks for a moment. They were knowing and powerful and sympathetic within the span of a second.

"But William. When you are in my office, I want you to know you are safe. You are safe here," Dr. Lecter continued soothingly.

"Maybe. Maybe," William responded, shaking his head.

"Not maybe. I can promise you that." _Promises_. Hannibal didn't usually do promises.

William chuckled, "Promises? You don't seem the type to give promises."

Hannibal joined in with his own chuckle. "And why is that?"

"You don't seem the type to give people false hope."

"Do you feel I am giving false hope now?"

Their eyes met again. A contest of wills. Each searching for something in guarded eyes.

"You don't seem the type to give false hope."

"And you don't seem the type to believe in falsehoods."

Another glance. William's been in dark places all his life. Like a Typhlichthys subterraneus which had lived in dark caves for too long, William had evolved past the need for eyes to be tricked by false light. Which was good because Hannibal was like the Anglerfish, the deep-sea fish with the small light to draw in prey and the large, sharp teeth in wait.

Dr. Lecter, with a flourish of his hand, motions to the black chair that he stood in front of. With an utmost reluctance, William leaves the balcony, step by step, off the ladder, glances at the walls around him as if they were going to cave in, towards Hannibal. Finally, when they are both standing in front of the chair, William smiles a wry smile.

"Not everything's going to be this easy," William says and sits down. He is still squirming in his chair, but Hannibal smiles.

"No."

* * *

A/N: So sad. I don't have cable and I _know_ that Hannibal is on _right now_. This is torture. For all those who don't know:

The actual episode 4 of Hannibal is called "Ceuf" and was _not_ aired in the US. It's the episode where Abigail gets some shrooms and hallucinates family.

Watch it if you have not already. Also, review. :)


	3. Brothers

Hannibal could see a very different William of the future. A William that would be very like Hannibal. With little imagination, Hannibal could imagine the killer's gleam in William's eye. Not the accidental murder of Hobbs, but the intentional, conscious murder of another human being, maybe a stranger. The "who" would be irrelevant. What did it matter who? It was about William. William's maturation.

Of course, it would help to start small. Start with a mass murderer – somebody to soften the culpability. Then a scumbag – maybe a child predator then a bank robber. Then, somebody of a passing annoyance. Then, the guilt would ease until there is no guilt. All that would be left would be an emptiness that could be filled by murder.

Perhaps 'emptiness' is inapt. Hannibal did not feel empty. He simply did not feel often enough to feel empty. Occasionally, there were small pangs of joy and grief (hormones in the brain made it so) and more and more occasionally, it was Will – William who brought out those feelings.

No, the murder was a part of who Hannibal was. Like breathing. It did not "complete him" or make him feel elevated above the rest of humanity – his intelligence alone already did that.

Killing and eating was what he did, what he was, what he will continue to be.

Until William catches him.

Or until William succumbs to his not-so-subtle manipulations.

To think, William with Hannibal. What an odd couple. Both outstanding citizens of the world, helping, and yet one was cracking and one, a cannibal. Both orphaned and both killers. Both condemned. William had so much potential, yet he cowered under his potential. Understandable especially because William conformed to society's standards, but society and Jack Crawford could never accept William as Hannibal would accept him. With Hannibal at William's side, William could flourish. They could be the perfect match. Everything lacking in Hannibal, i.e. those damnable feelings, William could provide. Everything lacking in William, i.e. a solid foundation, Hannibal could provide.

Hannibal never would have believed in kinship if not for William. They could be brothers in blood, in murder.

And if not, Hannibal would be honored for William to be the one to apprehend him. It would destroy William, Hannibal was sure, but William was already destroyed. Besides, William would not be the only one who would be wounded by the loss of their relationship.

If only the game could continue forever.

* * *

**A/N**: Big hug to my first reviewer: Miracle of an angel (hope I translated right)

And who said this story wasn't slash?


	4. Name

Name

"William, please come in," Hannibal greeted, waving for William to step into the office. With a sharp and inconspicuous nod, William did just that, ambling in with his usual muddy green coat and forlorn eyes. The sight tugged a genuine smile on the corners of Hannibal's lips; he was getting used to the sight. In fact, he welcomed, even enjoyed, the time he had with William. William had been a very reluctant patient but after the initial phase of hatred toward psychoanalysis, William had been much more open to discussing his life. During some of the first visits, Hannibal made sure to establish a sense of trust between himself and William.

Hannibal knew that William would never trust his psychiatrist – never really open up to anybody who might pick see the horrors of his mind and become disgusted with William, so Hannibal decided that he would become more than a psychiatrist. He would become William's friend. It helped that Hannibal already found William immensely interesting. Hannibal did not have to pretend to respect William and simulate fondness for him. At first, his attempts to win over William started out as a game: how to break William's barriers. Now, he really cared for William and that fact surprised even him.

Simultaneously, Dr. Lector and William sat down in their chairs. While Dr. Lector sank slowly into his low, leather chair with the careful and precise movement of muscle, William fell into his chair with the grace of an unused wad of paper into a waste basket. Hannibal could not help but distinguish the differences between the two of them.

While Dr. Lector controlled his mannerisms and displayed a most refined aura, William struggled and failed and flailed in a chaotic swirl. Such was exhibited in William's soft, shaggy brown hair and the way William picked at his cuticles. The dirt on his lackluster loafers. The wrinkles on all of his clothing. Not to say that William was not clean – as if Hannibal would let his office become polluted with filth. William's natural state perpetually bordered on disheveled and untidy. Not unclean.

William's hands appeared dry and warm as did his hair, facial or otherwise. William only lacked a thorough attentiveness to detail. For instance, that aftershave, the cheap one. William could certainly afford other aftershave but did not bother.

However, everything but the aftershave should stay as is. For brief moments, Hannibal could imagine a polished William, with an expensive suit and silver cuff links, but William's face dissolved more and more as Hannibal imagined a more well-dressed William. The more Hannibal modified William's appearance, the more William ceased to be William.

Hannibal decided that he liked William with the disordered clothing and the shaky smile.

"Today, I was driving and I realized something very important," William started, using his hands to express how 'important' his realization was. His arms pushed out and up from his body.

"Oh, yes? And what was this revelation?" Dr. Lector replied with a small smile. Hannibal had gotten used to the roles both he and William played. William would say something and only continue when Dr. Lector gave the cue to continue.

"I would make a horrible father. I'm unstable. I wouldn't be able to take care of my kids when I can't take care of myself. And I don't know any parenting skills. I wouldn't know how to teach my kids the value of anything."

"What has brought this on, William?" Dr. Lector asked, folding his hands on his lap, over his unopened jacket.

"I – I don't know," William sighed, shaking his head, his fingers compressing the skin on his forehead in a rough massage. Dr. Lector raised his eyebrow slowly at him.

"It has nothing to do with Abigail?" Dr. Lector inquired. It was a redundant question because Hannibal knew the answer, but often, as Hannibal found out, such questions were needed.

William stayed silent, eyes set directly at Dr. Lector but looking through him entirely. Hannibal knew that William was somewhere else entirely, somewhere in the dark recesses of his mind, perhaps.

"Maybe, probably, yes," William eventually confessed. Dr. Lector smiled a little to himself. There was a time when William would have fought tooth and nail to keep that information to himself, but Hannibal worked unwaveringly to soften William to the idea of being more open with him. What a reward, indeed, that William trusted Hannibal beyond the most. Perhaps if Hannibal were any less twisted, he would not try to befriend William to shelter William from the eventual conflict of Hannibal's darker hunger.

"I do not think your self-accusations are unfounded," Dr. Lector started. William sagged a little – Dr. Lector's confirmation was both relieving and distressing.

"However, they are also self-depreciating. William, there's no need to victimize yourself. No parent is completely stable. I think you could make a good father for Abigail. Especially for Abigail," Hannibal ended. William's eyes immediately brightened – something that Hannibal found immensely attractive in their unexpected innocence and hope. Both of which, innocence and hope, William usually had so little of made their appearance all the more appreciated.

William was like a lamb sometimes. It disgusted him with how easy William appeared. However, Hannibal knew better than to judge by appearances. William was so much more than what he appeared.

"You think so?" William asked. A rhetorical question more than anything, but Hannibal would indulge him.

"Abigail needs a parent who is not caring and smothering in the way that many parents tend to be. She needs … unconventional methods to bring her out of her unconventional circumstances."

William snorted softly, "Only you could call her father, a cannibalistic serial murderer, and her father's attempt to murder her and the successful murder of her mother 'unconventional circumstances.'"

"What would you like to call it, William?" Hannibal smirked unobtrusively.

For a while, William seemed to be in deep thought before returning eye contact. Hannibal waited patiently.

"Will."

Blinking many times, Hannibal could not follow.

"My name. It's Will. You're always calling me 'William.'"

Hannibal nodded, showing that he understood; William made a gesture with his forefinger for Hannibal to practice his name.

"Will," Hannibal finally said, nodding, liking how easy the name came to his tongue, agreeing to the nice ring of it in the air.

William smiled, grinned with infinite childishness and infinite wisdom. His grin forced a grin on Hannibal's countenance. Sometimes, Hannibal had to fake his smiles to be polite; not here, not with... Will.

Only Will.

* * *

June 19. Can you believe the season finale is tomorrow? I can't. Good thing there'll be a season 2, but I wonder if Hannibal will be in jail. Also, looking forward to David Tennant on Hannibal.

And yes, Luna, I had to do TS Eliot for Eng and it stuck :) Kudos to you for noticing


	5. Courting

Courting

* * *

Will, Will, Will.

Hannibal liked the way the name sounded like church bells and a whisper. He liked that he could say it over and over again in his head, and it never ceased to entertain his thoughts. Most of all, what intrigued him the most was how the name could distract him from his cooking when nothing else ever had.

Smiling smoothly, he brought his gaze back onto the sizzling frying pan he held. With the other hand, he stirred the sauteed mushrooms with a spatula. Ah, cooking. Nothing brought more calm to his body. The continuous ritual, if you will.

Will. The will to live. The will to fight. What a strong word. Will.

Next came the meat. Strips of bacon, stripped not from pork although the man might as well have been swine. The bacon had screamed – vexing, but not the first screamer. He had been quieted fairly quickly and flayed even more quickly. At least the bacon's body would serve a nutritious purpose.

Wholesome. Will. Like wheat bread.

Speaking of bread, he needed to slice a thick servings of the rosemary bread he had bought. The savory bread would soak in the fat well.

Hannibal wondered if his thoughts about Will bordered on an infatuation, but even if it had, Hannibal could handle his emotions whatever they might be. For now, he could release the reigns on his emotions; later, should he need to manipulate Will, he would. He would never become too blinded by his budding affection for Will.

A turn of the stove dial and the flame dispersed instantly. Hannibal ladled the appropriate servings onto each prepared dish with a pinch of seasoning and garnish. He placed the two plates with a slice of rosemary bread each, two bowls of pre-made garlic soup, and silverware on the wooden serving tray.

Normally, he would bring the food to the dining room, but Will had fallen asleep on the couch before the fire, and Hannibal didn't have the will to force Will into the dining room. Especially when he looked so peaceful in the warm sitting room. Besides, Hannibal was not obsessive compulsive. Controlling, he was, but without flexibility, he would be no better than a predictable robot.

When Hannibal entered into the sitting room, he saw that Will lay comfortably in the exact position Hannibal had left him in. Hannibal took great pride in that Will had no nightmares thus far while sleeping in his house. Maybe, the fireplace created a wondrously cozy atmosphere, or Will unconsciously felt safe here.

The moment, however, when Hannibal laid the serving tray on the coffee table, Will bolted upright. Hannibal considered it good luck; he no longer needed to wake Will.

"Dr. Lector!" he seemed surprised, "I'm so sorry I fell asleep. It's got to be late. Sorry for the trouble." Already, Will was pushing the blankets off his lap.

"No need for apologies, Will. You are no trouble. Besides, I've already prepared dinner for the both of us." Hannibal smiled, not one of those fake, tight smiles either.

Will looked a bit apprehensive, still. "You sure you wouldn't rather go to the dining room? We can relocate, especially because I don't want to spill whatever it is you made anywhere."

"I am no 'neat freak.' I think I can manage."

"Oh you heard that?"

Yes, Hannibal had heard Will's little aside about a certain somebody being obsessed with organization. Will had muttered it under his breath as he walked out of his last session. At the same time, Hannibal had been sorting his identical pens in order, on his desk, exactly the same distance apart. Will probably never even noticed he said it. But Hannibal did and thought much about it in bed.

To his credit, Will looked sheepish now, his gaze glued to the floor and a slightly rueful smile tugging on his lips. Hannibal tutted and batted away the tension with a glide of his hand.

"No worries, Will. I am content where I am although I do advise you to use the tray," Hannibal remarked. Pointing an accusing finger at him, Will laughed at this, "See what I mean? You, clean freak, you." Nevertheless, Will carefully placed his servings on his tray and gingerly balanced it all over his crossed feet under the blankets. Really, Hannibal liked how Will teased him and yet still complied. The mark of a good submissive – a little bite but obliging at the core.

That last thought shocked Hannibal a little. It brushed into his mind so naturally that he did not realize he thought it until moments later. Internally smiling to himself, Hannibal could hear the locks in his mind opening. He finally knew what this, the relationship between himself and William, was: courting. Even if Will had yet to figure it out.

"I do not, however, hear any of your complaints," Hannibal replied to Will's jest. Hannibal looked meaningfully at Will, but at that point, Will had focused all his attentiveness to his food, digging into it with a graceless charm.

"No, no you don't. And won't. Not from me anyways. I like it. I also like this food. Thanks, by the way," Will said after finishing chewing. His manners were up to par, at least.

"Anytime for a friend, Will," Hannibal smirked knowingly. Suddenly, Will's shining eyes jumped into his gaze. They were full of mirth and crows feet sprung from the corners. Hannibal could not help but try to match them. As best he could.

* * *

AN: Hello there, dear sweet reviewers (and hopefully, future reviewers). This chapter marks a sort of non-subtle turning point. I know the Hannibal season finale came and got swept away with summer, but this story is still going full-force.

This story will be around ten short chapters, and I sincerely hope you'll enjoy the ride with me. I'd be very happy if any of you could review. It's a button away and a simple "I like" will suffice. Thank you to all the past reviewers (near and dear to my heart of hearts).

See you next time!


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